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I was not the scarcity what marked her, but the postponement, that guaranteed podium, but not for the first place. It became strong later, hard and docile like the most noble and more wrought steel, but with that pain inside her behind, barely visible, barely sensitive, barely perceptive. Therefore, when somebody could dispute her – beyond that she really did- the attention of the one who had defined like subject of his, it was mounting in a bitter and thick rage. She didn’t got to understand that for the hate it is needed as much or major force than for love.

It began – perhaps for a strange mechanism of defense, of attack, of survival- to create a parallel world excessively real, making others affronts hers, and hoisting as proper victories absolutely improper. Denied a heap of times – year after year, episode after episode – the need for this first place, this original frustration was projected in not penitent fault, in the ‘if I did not have it, it is because I did not deserve it, and if I did not deserve it the fault it is mine’. From there, she had not left with any more that to personify the fault and to drag it up till cheerfully destroying herself, for sorrow of those who love her.

I remember that time, when it was just a while we knew each other and I was still smiling, that I let her see the first letter of the one that was going to be mi new name. It spit on it without doubting, with that immediateness that obeys the fear, the hate, the disgust. I looked at that saliva covering my initial, saving the forms in my memory, before washing everything and apologize to her and listen to hers. I wanted to run, far away, but I held my self; I already had training, little, but it counted. I avoided speaking to her, loving her, reproaching her something. I was a piece in her chess. Time to play outside the board.